


Pretty Starker

by LostBoy626



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Pretty Woman (1990), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A lot of sex, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe- Pretty woman fusion, Comfort, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Gen, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Minor age difference, Multi, No-powers, Peter is older, PeterIsABottom, PeterIsRich, PowerlessAU, Prostitution, Sexist Language, Tony is Younger, mentions of drug abuse, openly Bisexual Tony Stark, openly bisexual Peter Parker, reversed roles, starker subtext
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23407870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostBoy626/pseuds/LostBoy626
Summary: Tony Stark left New York and came to Hollywood chasing a dream. He quickly discovered that dreams were not all they were cracked up to be. With the help of a street hooker named Clint, Tony quickly learned the trade in order to survive. Little did he know that the brunette in the Lamborghini Asterion would do much more for him than line his pockets with $$$.
Relationships: Eventual Peter Parker/Tony Stark - Relationship, James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Peter Parked/ Originals, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker/ MaryJane, Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Tony Stark/ Original, Tony Stark/ Pepper Potts (mentioned)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Peter

One thing he quickly had to adapt to was the season’s changed, the weather grew warmer and the sun chased away the powdery snow. This wasn’t Chamonix, France, a place that was perpetually stuck in a frozen state that altered slightly between freezing to mildly cold. He was outside of his home town, the place he'd spent the better part of his teenage years to escape his aunt and past. He was out of his comfort zone and Peter Parker was a man who struggled to adapt to change he didn’t directly establish or seek out. 

In his business, however, change came almost as certainty as the rising of the sun and the lowering of the moon. In his business, hesitation or reservation were seen as a weakness and with him quickly rising in the ranks, he couldn’t appear to be weak. Distracted. He was only twenty six years old and had established a name for himself; a career men twice his senior could only ever dream of. He began as a nobody, and quickly became somebody with sheer determination and hard work. He was a force to be reckoned with and his sharp, heartless business savvy had earned him equal parts respect and abhorrence from the people around him. But not love. 

Men whispered his name with reverence or disdain, the common ground in the middle vacant whenever he strolled down a busy sidewalk or into yet another board meeting dressed up in his name brand, custom suits with a crisp tie and neatly styled hair. His glamoured watches and rings were jewelry meant for decoration but came as a show of heartless flaunting to those who weren’t quite as lucky or as successful as him. 

He was sought after. His reputation preceding him, but not defining him. People wanted to own him; to use and dominate him in ways meant to be perceived as sadistic and all-consuming, yet none were too particularly interested in building a conductive relationship. In loving him. 

So he grew cold and distant. Establishing a line between business and pleasure, never crossing the two and because of this, his reservations, it had cost him yet another relationship. He sighed as he put his cellphone back in his pocket, the outline of the device unevident because of how the slack of his pants hung loose but flattering around his thighs- a pair he’d borrowed from Harry, his lawyer, after an incident at the party below them had resulted in his own pair becoming stained with red wine. 

He replayed the argument he just had; the latest set back in a long line of arguments that seemed to play on repeat throughout all his relationships like the needle of a record player getting caught in a nicked groove somewhere and can’t escape the loop. The toxicity and fear for commitment that surrounded him like a cloud of suffocating black gas. He’d been too distant, he realized, too focused on work and his own life to remember he’d left someone back in France; someone who he grossly took advantage of yet never offered a spare thought for in his free time. She wasn’t all-consuming and it was why he wasn’t particularly upset with the development of their relationship status. Of the direction their conversation had detoured to. 

“You know how I feel, Peter . I’ve never even flown out to New York or seen you in action when you speak business in a language only you can ever understand or keep up with. I don’t even know what your office looks like in person- hell, I had to see photos of your house that Harry’s wife posted on facebook last week of your congratulatory meal. It’s embarrassing and I’m humiliated, Peter . I don’t even know what you were celebrating.”

“We closed in on a half a million dollar contract,” He said, like it had mattered now when she was bearing herself to him and being vulnerable in a way he detested. “But can you come, please? I need you to close this deal. It’s huge.”

“You’ve never needed me before, so why now?”

“The point isn’t the past, Cheryl, it’s the present and I’m inviting you out now.” He didn’t mean to sound so annoyed, he truly didn’t.

“A year later!” She screeched into the phone, and he paused for a moment with the phone held at arm's length, a safe distance away from his ringing ear drums, to reposition his body so he was leant against the wall. “You beckon me like I am a dog, Peter ! Like I am your property and I’m tired of it.”

“I’m not treating you like a dog, Cheryl. I have been kind to you; bought you a large home to accommodate your ever growing hunger for my wealth, and I buy you everything you could ever need. My absence in your life is not important when I am attempting to make up for it now.”

“My feelings aren’t important? My loneliness? Do you even hear yourself? Do you understand how big of a dickwad you sound like?”

“You’re inflating this into something that it isn’t. I needed you for my reputation, nothing more. It reflects poorly on me if I show up to a social gathering, in the process of purchasing a family business, alone. I can’t close the deal if Sam retracts his cooperation upon seeing my lone presence.”

“Oh my god, Peter. You’ve gone insane- you know what? Fuck you. Take your house back- the money, take it all. I’m moving out and I expect to never hear from you again.”

“If that is what you wish, Cheryl, do what you must.”

“Goodbye, Peter .”

Peter stood on the second-floor mezzanine overlooking the choppy waters of the party below. It was sunny Sunday afternoon and the light was streaming in through the two-floor panel windows that made the Parker white decor of the house look like the pristine interior of the most sophisticated fishbowl. Everywhere you looked there were suits. Suits and their wives; monochromatic splotches of all possible shades of grey and subdued neutral tones of yellow and pink that looked washed out in the too Parker lighting- hazy colors like a sunset drowning in LA smog. His own charcoal grey suit was a testament to the two worlds he was straddling; simple yet pristine.

The off-black, hand washed pants he wore now clashed against his suit jacket and made him stick out like a sore thumb but nobody would dare say as much or comment on his attire as he moved away from the ledge, from people watching, and advanced towards the stairs with a mental image of the sun swallowing through the diamonds hung from the chandelier and casting hundreds of rainbows across the wall. Adding color to what was such a drab view. The guests gravitated in small clusters that were constantly shifting and changing with people adding themselves into conversations and others leaving to join another, maybe to relay an interesting tidbit that they had learned and could use for their own gain as leverage in the game of business politics. Platters of food were all laid out on long tables dressed with white tablecloths so as to not clash with the sparse decorations that littered the room with a flash of a banner in the corner of the room and the single metal frame stand that sat on the center table.

Servers navigated the room deftly and promptly as they handed out champagne flutes and glasses of wine; collecting empty glassware as the party slowly got louder and passion flared- encouraged by the alcohol. He knew this was Harry’s favorite trick. Feed them well, water the weak, grease the wheel, and all sorts of secrets would come tumbling out. Fishing, he called it. Which is why Peter never drank a drop at these parties. 

Or ever, truthfully. Why develop a taste for something he was only going to deprive himself of? 

And so there he stood, practically hugging the hand rail at the bottom of the stairs as a single, warm tear broke free of his lashes and made its way down his cheek. He was overwhelmed and frustrated. He quickly reached up and wiped the offending dampness away before it could mar his skin with the damp stickiness and before Harry could see his weakness. He spotted him in the crowd and though his eyes had dried quickly, he could feel his self-control slipping, his body trembling; it was too subtle for most to even notice, but he knew, and that would affect his focus and his judgment. Impair him in a way he fought to never happen while in a social gathering. 

Harry had that hungry look in his eye as he stared up at him, that insipid, calculating smile on his face like he knew that in that moment he was weak. If there was one all important thing he had learned over the years, it was this; if you bleed, you get the fuck out of the water. 

He picked up his damp, folded pants he’d instructed be thrown away but had instead been placed on a table near where the entire accident had happened, and made his way into the crowd. 

“Mr. Parker, I’d like to introduce myself.”

“And why would you want to do that?”

“Uh… Harry said I should. He thought I could be of assistance to you.”

Peter continued to walk, painfully aware of how this newcomer in the low-end suit was towering over him despite his usual height advantage and it was then it dawned on him- Harry’s intentions. He was mocking both Peter and the newcomer, wasting Peter 's time while rubbing in this boy’s face the future he could have had and the realization that he would never be useful to someone of Peter ’s standing. 

Harry was a sick, sadistic man. Hungry for humiliation and his meal came when the boy blushed a bright red and rubbed at the nape of his neck.

Peter sighed pitifully, and decided to entertain Harry. “How did we open on the market?”

“Uh…”

He was being taken as a fool. “Don’t stammer, it shows hesitation. Leave’s room for second guessing and leaves a gaping weakness. You have to be confident in yourself, otherwise you will be walked all over. Speak clearly, take assertion, and always remember time is money and you are currently wasting mine.”

“The market hasn’t opened yet.”

He stopped and turned to look at the initiate standing before him. He paused long enough to watch him shrink like a testical exposed to the frigid Pacific waters. He kept his back straight, shoulders back and he had become a mountainous wave, cresting and ready to crash down. He didn’t even bother looking at his watch. “The Tokyo exchange opened fifteen minutes ago. Next time you want to waste my time, you better have your shit together or both you and Harry will be out on your ass.” 

He didn’t wait for a response before turning around and shaking the hands of some of the hundred faces, pants cradled beneath his arm like they were a lot more important than the stained material truly were. He usually had a lot more patients for Harry’s games, but today he was under a lot of stress with the overwhelming sense of dread and failure that loomed overhead as he thought of his uncertain future. Without Cheryl, his assurance towards the foundation of his own family, he would be left to bear the water’s brought on by Sam alone and he wasn’t entirely convinced he wouldn’t drown. That he wasn’t being led to his death like a sheep to the slaughter with his impending doom inevitable. 

~~

It felt like forever before he broke free from the barricade of hands and was granted the freedom to inhale air that hadn’t been filtered through several other people’s lungs. Escaping without anyone noticing, Peter deposited his soiled trousers in the wastebasket off to the side of the front door and slipped outside before anybody else could stop him and ask just one more question. 

The front of the house looked to be in no better condition than the interior, with all the cars Tetris-ed together in an impossible web of chaos and leaving no entrance or escape without removing the cars one by one, starting with the most god awful sports car he has ever seen, with the exterior a flashy, blinding red. 

He approached the slim man with a trim beard, hoping he had better news for him than his deceptive eyes did- hoping the light was playing against his odds and casting shadows across the home to make it appear as if there were more cars than there truly was. His blue eyes were startling, framed by black glasses that made him look sophisticated with his arms folded in front of his person, the white gloves blending seamlessly with his light grey uniform. The man eyed him with pity before he turned and spotted the sleek black town car he had commissioned from the hotel to take care of his transportation for the week. 

Peter followed his gaze and found it smack dab in the middle of the mess, and even he had to accept there was no getting his car out of it’s snug parking without some sort of miracle. It would take some time if he made them fix the configuration of cars- time he didn’t necessarily have nor want to waste. 

The driver pursed his lips, making them disappear in the thicket of his red bear and he looked genuinely pained at the circumstances. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Peter shook his head, defeated, but understanding. It was not this man's fault, but that didn’t erase his increasing anxiety and his need to get the hell out of there. Which left him with one option; and it was the gawdy sports car. It looked like it had been polished and shined to perfection every day the previous week in preparation to be the showcase jewel of the parking. Harry could have put it away, kept it out of harm’s way in one of the numerous garages he owned, but his pride had him leave it out for his business rivals to gawk and fawn over. A Luxury none of them could afford. 

Peter knew nothing of cars and so he was completely unimpressed by this monstrosity of sleek modern line. What he did know though, was his car was front and center, displayed for the entire neighborhood to see, which conveniently fit his needs. 

He gestured to the two valets standing by the mounted key box. They looked at him in confusion and he widened his eyes. “Keys,” he said. 

The valets turned and started foraging through the various keys, looking at the tags and yammering quickly in a foreign language. Peter was losing his patience, and quickly. He just wanted to get the hell out of here and back to his hotel where he could forget about Cheryl and how, right at this moment, she was probably moving everything out of their house and ruining his sparse things in the process. He didn’t care, however. He left very little behind and what did take up occupancy in his closet were all replaceable items. 

From behind him, the door opened again. 

“Peter,” said the somewhat nasal voice of his lawyer and host, “leaving so soon?”

“Harry, do you have your keys?” He asked without turning around. 

“My keys? Why?” And was that mild panic he detected?

“The car’s stuck back there somewhere and it’s going to take them an hour just to get it out.”

“So… you want to take my car?” Definitely panic, with his voice increasing every so slightly in pitch. 

Peter snickered internally. “Give me the keys, Harry.”

“This is a high-performance sports transmission… do you even know how to-“ Peter looked up at him and stared daggers as he looked back and forth between him and the car. “Damnit,” he mumbled under his breath as he pulled something out of his pocket that looked more like a fridge magnet than a key. He walked up to him and dropped it into his outstretched hand. Peter looked it over quickly, looking for a button to push but found only the smooth black surface and the steel inlay of the bull logo. 

Harry walked around him and pressed a nearly invisible button on the frame of the window just behind the driver’s door and it popped open. He pulled it open completely and Peter sat himself down gracefully in the white and red leather seat, pretending that he had figured out the key while looking all around the dash for a clue. Harry hemmed and hawed about the new car and just getting it waxed and worrying that he would damage it somehow. His eyes finally landed on the buttons on the steering wheel. None of them looked like they would start a car, so he pushed the one with the vertical line and miraculously the car roared to life. He hid his satisfied smirk when he looked up and saw Harry leaning in the door and looking down at him. 

Peter was pressing to leave as he tugged the protective belt around his waist and buckled it. His bulky frame was definitely not meant to sit in a car like this, with the seat so close to the steering wheel, but he managed to readjust himself and get somewhat comfortable despite how hard the leather seats were. 

Harry yammered on about the new car, speaking of it as if it were a lover as he drug his finger across the polished roof and gazed at the cherry red that glistened in the sun with doey eyes. 

“Goodbye, Harry,” Peter said as he reached for the door to pull it closed, forcing Harry out of the way of his protective stance where he’d previously been guarding the door to prevent Peter from leaving. He moved away, and Peter slammed the door shut. 

“Keep the pants, Peter . They look much more flattering on you,”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’m already paying you more than you’re worth, Harry. Flattery will get you nowhere.” And with that, he was slamming down on the gas pedal and the car lurched forward, far too smooth of a transgression as he pushed the speed limit from light pressure and with quick adjustment, he was zooming down the street and Harry’s house grew to an invisible blip in the background.


	2. Tony

A thin sheen of sweat broke out on Tony’s face as he rocked his hips, pumping into Rhodey ’s ass, being sure to hit that sweet spot with every thrust. He kept a close eye on the man’s face, looking for the tell-tale signs that he was close to his release. Rhodey was one of his easier regulars: nothing too kinky, some role playing and bottom penetration. He was just looking for some straight-forward relief from his mundane, heterosexual life. This was probably the wildest he ever got. Still, he was one of Tony’s favourites. Physical attraction was not a must in Tony’s line of work, but it sure made the time fly by faster when he had something nice to look at, and Rhodey’s black hair, chocolate brown skin and wide brown eyes, strong jaw and gym fit body certainly fit the bill.

Rhodey gasped and moaned under him and Tony kept up his rhythm while he slowly moved his hand down the inside of his client’s leg. As he reached his swollen cock, he paused, allowing himself a moment to indulge in watching his own cock moving in and out of the man’s ass. He looked up, dragging his eyes slowly over Rhodey ’s body, watching his abs contract as he again hit that sweet spot. The man could writhe like no one’s business, Tony found himself contemplating, a smile tugging at his lips. Rhodey was watching him through half-lidded eyes, Tony realized, and he continued his languid inspection of the man’s body, the pretend infatuation all part of the fantasy he was paid to enact. He finally brought his eyes up to meet his and the man’s chest hitched a little and Tony pretended to startle, like he hadn’t known Rhodey was watching him. He bent forward, slowing his thrusts a moment as he pressed his face to Rhodey ’s straining neck to suckle kisses into the skin, but not hard enough to leave any traces; what would the missus think?

Tony wrapped his hand around the man’s cock, pressed between their bodies and Rhodey sighed against him. He knew Rhodey didn’t need much to release once he got him primed like this and he used the friction of their rocking bodies to stimulate and trigger his orgasm. Rhodey groaned as his sperm spilled out of him, his eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. Tony continued to rock against him, slowing his movements as Rhodey came back down. He had a satiated smile on his face: another satisfied customer.

Tony straightened up and pulled out completely, turning to sit on the edge of the cheap motel bed to remove the empty condom and then his cock ring. He felt Rhodey shift on the bed behind him and turned his head slightly as strong arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind.

“Oh. No round two?” the man asked, looking down at his lap and already softening cock.

“You can’t afford it,” Tony said, officialising the end of their hour and the fantasy. He glanced at the weird Art Deco clock on the wall by the door. “Besides, the wife and kid are gonna wonder where you are.” He leaned forward to drop the used condom in the trash bin by the head of the bed.

Rhodey wasn’t done with his fantasy though and he refused to let him go. “One day, we’re going to get out of here. You an’ me. Just blow this stupid town.”

“Oh, baby,” Tony said, turning in the man’s arms and laying his hand on his shadowed jaw. “That, you definitely can’t afford.”

He pecked him on the cheek, ignoring the man’s attempt to break the rules, then stood up. He stretched his long limbs, his arched back cracking gloriously, before he marched into the bathroom to clean up at the sink. It was going on 8 p.m. and he had to go meet up with Clint on the Boulevard. Maybe he’d get lucky and land a fresh buck, or maybe even a doe. Even a couple of quick blow jobs in Whore’s Alley would help. They could use the rent money.

Rhodey walked in behind him and started the water in the shower. “Sure you don’t want to join me?” he asked him.

Tony frowned, wondering if maybe the man was buying into the fantasy a little too much tonight. But that was hardly his problem. As long as he got paid, what did it matter what was going on in the client’s head? He was no therapist.

“I gotta run. I’ll see you next week.”

Rhodey nodded his head and stepped into the shower, disappearing behind the curtain. Tony watched the curtain for a second, a little concerned about Rhodey ’s growing attachment to him, but then he remembered the bright smile that had lit up the man’s face as he talked about his family following one of their first appointments. He loved his family, that much was clear. He would never intentionally hurt them.

Tony walked back into the room and collected his things, throwing on his clothes hurriedly. He was going for something a little different tonight: jean shorts cut off just below his ass, black leather vest and cowboy boots he had found at a thrift shop and cowboy hat. Maybe he’d get a couple homesick, homesick for a little country. 

Tony had to admit he liked running his hand in his long hair and setting the hat to hold it in place. He imagined himself in the middle of his favourite westerns, high noon, standing at one end of a clapboard town’s only muddy street, ready to face off with Wild Bill Hickok or Clay Allison. Tony glanced down at himself, contracting his abs a moment and musing that he’d probably be wearing more clothes- he only dressed the way he did because it drew eyes to him and pleased a lot of his clients. 

He stuck his feet into his boots, rearranging his stock of condoms, taking quick inventory at the same time and slipping his ring in the plastic baggy he used to keep it clean between clients. He stuffed Rhodey ’s money in his other boot, experience having taught him that it was a much safer place for it than in his pockets. He did transfer one of the ten-dollar bills to the inside pocket of his jean vest though, already starting to salivate as he thought about buying himself some food. “Pie,” he said to himself, allowing his mind to fantasize about the sweet frivolity.

He walked out of the motel room and made his way to the sidewalk, turning his feet towards Hollywood Blvd to meet up with Clint. He tipped his hat at a woman with greying hair and a sour face who was glaring at him, sending her rushing in the other direction with a conceited huff. As he cut through an alley that would land him right near his “office,” he made quick eye contact with Wanda who had her lips wrapped around a client’s cock, his large hand in her Auburn hair. She blinked once, letting him know everything was fine and Tony kept going without breaking his stride.

He reached his and Clints usual spot, the stretch of boulevard Clint had claimed for himself, clawing and fighting with the other sex workers for the turf- for this one spot that he had declared was the best to ply his trade. Tony had always been confused by this, figuring that with the predominance of women in the field, Clint offered a much rarer service to the men and women of West Hollywood, and the visitors from beyond, that would catch client attention no matter where he set up shop. But he insisted on this one particular stretch of sidewalk. A stretch of sidewalk that was in fact currently not occupied by the smaller man.

Tony flicked his hat a little higher on his head as he turned and looked up and down for his roommate and mentor. He supposed that he could be with a client, but as his eyes landed on the club down the block and across the street, he figured he was more likely to find him there getting high than in someone’s bed getting paid. “Fuck,” Tony huffed as he looked both ways and jay walked across the wide road, getting a few generous honks and some whistling from the passing cars.

The Hell Hole was a dance club where any given night, it would be packed tight with writhing bodies pressed together in a mass of sweat and limbs. He’d picked up his fair share of clients: high on drugs and music and low on inhibitions, willing to pay for a bite of the forbidden fruit or a skilled suck. That was before Jeff had claimed the territory for himself. He was the reigning drug dealer of the area. Tony suspected that if somebody dug deep enough, they’d find that he was the de facto owner of the Hell Hole, which he used as a front for his true profit market: pills. Ecstasy, speed, valium – highs and lows, floating on clouds or moving through molasses: no matter your needs, wants, desires, Jeff had you covered. But the man wasn’t content making his huge profits from selling to the club goers, he had decided that all sex trade happening in his club was part of his business and he would take 50 percent of the money. Tony and Clint had moved their shop to the corner across the street and settled for picking off the ones who stumbled out.

Working the street though meant a different kind of risk, one that had made working the club for Jeff Bridges increasingly tempting, though Tony stood firm in his belief that they could take care of themselves. Car traffic made controlling sales much more difficult. More than once he’d watched Clint get into a car only to reappear at home beaten and bruised. Tony would nurse him back with cold compresses and hot soup. He’d been lucky himself so far. Other than Pepper, whose kicks involved silk restraints, sharp stilettos, a cat-o-nine tails and thin razor blades, the worst abuse he ever got was some name calling and a few dine-and-dashers who would get off and run out without paying. Maybe it was Clint’s more willowy frame that made him a target. Or perhaps the clientele that gravitated towards his particular brand of cross-dressing also had a proclivity for violence.

Tony pulled open the club’s heavy door and walked through the dark entrance towards the bar at the back. The dance floor was mostly empty even though the music was already booming. The base was boosted so hard that he could feel it in his balls. He leaned up against the bar and the tall, long-haired bartender turned to look at him, his eyebrows raised in a question.

“Hey, Pops. You seen Clint tonight?”

“Uh, yeah. Upstairs.”

Tony tried not to cringe openly as he thanked him and turned towards the metal stairs that led to the second-floor mezzanine: Jeff’s domain. There were a few small tables set away from the railing so the dealer could keep an eye on the business below but keep his privacy. There were also a few booths in the back with pleather seats and tables like in a restaurant, only here, what you could order up came in pills or flesh.

“Tony,” called out the smooth, nasal voice of the man who ran the show. “How nice of you to drop by.”

“Jeff,” Tony said curtly as a greeting. “I’m looking for Clint, you seen him?”

“Tony, Tony, Tony… Don’t worry about Clint. He’s in good hands.”

The man waved lazily behind him and Tony looked towards one of the booths where he could see Clint animatedly talking to the people gathered close together, his hands gesticulating with the surplus of energy. Tony felt the cool hand on his thigh and his muscles twitched, though he didn’t startle away. He looked back at Jeff who was petting him appreciatively.

“I wish you’d come work for me, Tony. I have a few friends who would love to meet you.”

Though the words seemed innocuous, Jeff radiated violence in every soft-spoken syllable and Tony shuddered on the inside thinking about the man’s “friends.” Simple, everyday words were like promises of sadism and torture when they came out of the otherwise inconspicuous man’s mouth. He was a demon in a pediatrician’s suit.

“Pass,” Tony said, moving away from his unwelcome touch and starting for the corner booth to get Clint out of there.

“He’s mine now, you know.”

“Like hell, he is,” Tony growled, turning back towards Jeff and the various hangers on who populated his table. One of them started laughing, high as a kite with a snapped string.

“He’s racked up quite the debt, your sweet little bottom.” Tony glared at him. Clint wasn’t his bottom, or his sub. They were just roommates, but he wasn’t going to give any more information to the manipulating asshole; let him think what he wanted. “I offered to let him work it off. I know a few people who would love a sweet, submissive creature like him.”

“How much is the debt?”

“More than you have, Tony. Unless of course you want to take the deal for him. Pepper likes you. And she’s got a few friends too who wouldn’t mind a taste of your… product.”

“Fuck you, Jeff.”

In a few quick strides of his long legs, Tony was standing by the table where Clint was.

“Tony! Oh, man, am I happy to see you, buddy! You have GOT to try some of this shit, I can hear colours man, and boy, let me tell you, purple? Is a fucking cunt.”

“Time to go, come on.” Clint started to protest, looking around at the other people at his table. “Don’t make me drag you out of here, Clint.”

“You’re no fun,” he mumbled as he climbed up on the seat and walked across the tabletop, making the golden fringe of his 20’s style flappers dress shimmy and shimmer. He jumped down, only barely wobbling perched atop his 5-inch platform shoes. Tony dragged him around by the shoulders pointing him towards the stairs and giving him a shove to get moving. He wanted to get the fuck out of that place, and the faster the better. As they passed Jeff again on their way out, the man stood and blocked his path, putting his long-fingered hand on Tony’s bare torso. Tony looked up at the towering man. He had frightening proportions, though his usual casual disposition hid it well. If he wanted to, he could really fuck him up. Tony hoped the man couldn’t read his thoughts on his face. He ground his teeth and glared.

“The only clients you’re taking tonight, are the ones I give you. You got that, Tony?”

“I’m not working for you, and you are not my pimp. Get the fuck out of my way, asshole. You’ll get your money.”

“I’m going to get it either way. Whether you pay it in cash, or I take it out of Clints ass. I own you both.”

“No one owns me, you son of a bitch.”

Tony moved past Jeff and followed Clint down the stairs and back out into the cooler evening air.


	3. Darlin’

The sun had set completely, and the dark street was lit up neon bright by the multi-coloured lights of the various signs along the boulevard advertising the services and wares to be found inside the buildings that were jammed packed together along the street: clubs and stores that sold souvenirs and poorly camouflaged drug ware and paraphernalia, shady clubs labeled XXX, convenience stores behind metal grills, and fast food joints.

Tony was trying very hard to keep his cool as he and Clint reached their spot. He counted steps, and read signs on shops, and named the years and models of the cars that drove by; anything to distract his brain from the anger that had swollen up inside him and to drown out his despair at the situation. He could be as mad as he wanted at Clint for spending all their money on drugs, but it wouldn’t change their current financial situation.

“I am so hungry. I could totally go for like a double burger combo with a side of cherry pie.”

“You should’ve thought about that before blowing all our money on fucking pills, C.”

Clint squirmed where he was leaning back against the lamp post nonchalantly. “I needed my candies, Tony.”

“Yeah? How badly do you want it exactly? Because that asshole in there says he owns you. How much do you owe him?”

“It’s nothing.” Tony turned and glared at him from under the rim of his hat. “Maybe just a couple.”

“Hundred?”

“Thousand.”

“How many is a couple exactly?”

“Like, three …or five maybe.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? That’s rent until Christmas! We’re barely making ends meet now. Son of a bitch!”

“I’m sorry, Tony. I think I lost control at some point.”

“You think? Goddamnit, Clint.”

Tony turned his back on him and leaned his elbows on the newspaper box, trying very hard to think of something different than choking his roommate to death.

“You know,” ventured Clint, “maybe we should take Jeff up on his offer. He likes you. If we work for him, we’re back in the club, off the street, and getting his high roller friends for customers. We could be rolling in it, Tony.”

“You mean rolling in bandages and plaster. I’m not working for that sadistic freak in there. And I’m not letting you do it either: I don’t want to see your name the headline in the paper. And I won’t be someone’s slave. We say who, we say what and we say how much. You taught me that.”

“Who. What. How much,” Clint repeated quietly.

Tony turned his head to look at him. The man was looking frail in his glittery thrift store flapper dress, matching sequined headband holding back his wavy light hair. As he stared at the sidewalk, there was a distance in his eyes that hadn’t been there when Tony had first met him. He had been a force to reckon with back then: assertive, funny and in control. His extreme submissiveness now would only attract trouble he feared.

A car slowed down, pulling Tony out of his thoughts. Time to get to work.

“Hey sweetheart,” called a voice from the car as it drew up to them. Clint was already strutting up closer.

“Hey sugar, you looking for a good time?” he asked.

“Yeah, I got a big fat one I wanna stick up your ass!” called out a voice from the back seat, the man sitting in the passenger’s seat suddenly cracking into a wide toothy grin.

Alarm bells went off in Tony’s head and he reached out to grab Clint’s arm before he could get any closer to the car.

“Fucking fags!” the person in the backseat yelled at them as the car’s tires suddenly squealed to speed away. Tony stepped out of the way just in time to avoid the fast food soda cup the assholes laughing it up in the car had thrown at him. He raised his hand in the air, flipping off the taillights.

“Fucking asshats!”

He turned back to Clint who was looking at the soda cup like he had just barely escaped a grenade. There was something in his eyes that worried Tony. He was looking so lost, so fragile. He should not be working the streets like that. Tony reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the ten-dollar bill he had been keeping to buy himself some dinner later and held it out to Clint. “Why don’t you go buy yourself a pizza, C. Go home. I got the corner covered tonight.”

Clint stared at the money in Tony’s hand hungrily, but made no move to take it from him, struggling with himself. Tony finally just grabbed his hand and curled the man’s fingers around the folded bill.

The sound of tires screeching around the corner accompanied by the roar of an engine made them both look up and gawp at the sleek red car that was careening and jerking left and right and headed right for them. It veered to the side at the last minute and came to a full dead stop at an angle to the sidewalk a couple car lengths away.

“Holy shit, that’s a Lamborghini Asterion,” Tony exclaimed. “There’s only like a few of these in the world, what the hell is this pretentious prick doing driving it in West Hollywood?”

“Who cares, man? That’s fucking rent.”

“Wait, what? You wanna try to fucking sell to a guy like that?”

“Oh hell no. You are. That’s your client right there.” Tony turned to look at him with wide eyes. “Don’t give me that look, princess, you’re looking hot tonight. Go parade that fine ass in his face. Go!”

Clint swung his arm and slapped him on the ass loudly, spurring him on to start walking towards the car. Tony pulled his hat a little lower on his forehead and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, pulling the edge of the jean fabric down to reveal the jut of his hip bone, hinting at his love line. He would have to pull out all the stops for this one. He got closer to the car, his eyes distractedly glancing through the honeycomb-like back window that gave him a view of the engine. His mind was running the specs and he tried to shut it down so he could focus on selling himself to whoever was behind the wheel. Suddenly, the gas door popped open and he frowned at it. The hood at the front end of the car popped open too and he looked that way distractedly. What was this dude playing at? He pressed the gas cover closed just as the driver’s door opened. The testoni-clad foot connected to the shapely calf hidden beneath loose suit slacks caught him off-guard and he watched, stunned, as the man gracefully unfolded himself from the car seat and stood beside the Italian muscle. Tony quickly switched mode; the client profile completely different for a doe. He tried to size him up as he moved to the front of the car, his movements purposeful and confident. This was a man in control.

The men who generally pulled up to his corner like this were generally older, and not necessarily looking for sex, per se. Often it seemed like what they wanted was company, or attention. He would make these men feel attractive, desired. Then, there were the ones looking for something more exotic than their respectable partners could provide, like Pepper, who got off on torturing him slowly until he came. Her kink was control. And looking at the way this man was handling himself, he figured he would be from the later category. Maybe he had an old rich trophy wife he couldn’t fuck.

But what the hell was someone like that doing looking for his kicks on Hollywood Blvd?

Tony was distracted away from his contemplations as he made it around to the front of the car and heard him swearing a blue streak under his breath as he struggled with trying to open the front end of the car. He had released the hatch, but clearly didn’t realize there was a secondary, security latch that needed releasing before he could get to the contents of the trunk. He tried to hide his surprised smile. He wondered at the pleasant feeling pooling in his gut as he looked at him. “Need a hand?”

Peter looked up at the man who had accosted him, and he startled slightly, momentarily losing some of his composure, as he took in the man’s strange attire… or lack thereof. He watched as he touched a finger to the brim of his hat and popped his hip with the heel of his boot caught in the hole of the sidewalk, his posture making it appear as if it were an intentional development. 

“I’m fine, thanks,” he said, dismissing him and returning to trying to work open the stupid, goddamn engine hood. It was open, he could see that: the groove no longer smoothly aligned with the rest of the car’s lines. So why couldn’t he get it to open?

“Let me,” the man said, his voice a pleasant timbre with just enough roughness in his throat to sound masculine.

He moved into his space, his jean clad hip would have bumped against his if he hadn’t side-stepped just enough for it not to… and not an inch further. Peter straightened up and crossed his arms on his chest, refusing to be shunted aside like a useless doll. He watched him bend down, his fingers slipping in the groove of the hood. He couldn’t see his face under the cap, but his eyes took in his fit body though, his mind instantly jumping to models in magazines selling Calvin Klein underwear… only judging from how low his shorts were sitting on his hips, it looked like this guy wasn’t wearing any underwear at all. 

He reigned in his thoughts, chastising himself for the direction they had gone in. He didn’t have time to indulge in that kind of thinking. He just wanted to get back to the hotel and work on the deal. There was so much left to work out, and he simply did not trust that his team of lawyers and business partners would handle the details correctly.

The man’s fingers must’ve done something magical, because suddenly the metal hood was open, held up at arm’s length by him. Peter looked down, but instead of seeing the expected engine, he found a clean, and empty, fabric-lined interior.

“So… Were you hoping to kidnap someone? Why are we looking at an empty trunk?” The stranger asked. 

Peter’s frown disappeared and he ground his teeth as he reached up and yanked the hatch out of his hand and slammed it shut again. He started walking back towards the driver’s door.

“I’m just trying to help you out here. Clearly you’re not where you want to be.”

“Excuse me?” Peter spun on his heels to glare at him. He underestimated his height, forgetting to factor in the strangers heels, and ended up glaring at his chin before he adjusted and looked up slowly, taking in his rosy plump lips, his boyish freckles and finally his large hazel eyes that were intensely focused on him.

“I just meant that I don’t usually have $800,000 cars pulling up to my office. Especially not one driven by a man as attractive as you. So I figure, there has to be something wrong, or else you wouldn’t have stopped here.”

Peter had managed to pull the driver’s door open again, and the man was leaning his crossed arms on the top of it, the muscles under his bare skin made obvious. “I really don’t need any help. So you can go ahead and get back to minding your own business.”

“But this is my business. You stepped into my office. So why don’t you tell me what seems to be the problem, and I can go ahead and offer my services—"

“Swear to God, if you call me sir...”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’.” The man winked. He full on, unabashedly, fucking winked at him. The balls.  
He was about to start yelling at him, his frustration at the situation, the car, the fucking inconvenience of Cheryl, all of it, clawing at his skin to get out and here was a conveniently chauvinistic male for him to take all his anger out on just asking for it. He opened his mouth to express his choice words when Tony’s redentire demeanour changed suddenly. He turned his head to the side, looking at something across the street, and his casual easy-going posture turned rigid and square. “You should go now.”

“Stop telling me what to do.”

“Seriously. Right here, right now is not somewhere you should be.”

He turned his head again and looked at him, the concern in his face genuine. He was worried. About him. Why? Did he scream damsel in distress? Did he not look like he could handle himself? 

Peter looked around his broad shoulders at the supposed threat and his stomach turned. There was a group of people gathered across the street and staring at them. From the clothes they were wearing, he guessed that they were part of a street gang, and he agreed with the scantily clad prostitute: he should not be there.

Something in his brain stopped working though as he looked at Harry’s car, and then down at himself in his stupid miss-match party clothes and then at the steering wheel with all its buttons that he just couldn’t figure out and he began to feel the innate panic rise, the fears ingrained in him by a society of violent men surfacing as the people across the street took the first threatening steps from the curb to the pavement, heading their way. Heading FOR him, his car and undoubtedly his money. How was he supposed to get away in a car that he just couldn’t figure out.

“Seriously, get in the car, and get out of here.”

He looked up at him and then to the advancing threat and suddenly bitterly wished he hadn’t taken off so brashly without his town car and armed driver. He didn’t doubt he could defend himself, but he certainly didn’t want to try and see what happened to himself or his unlikely ali. He couldn’t even remember what he had done to get it out of park last time.

“I can’t drive,” he told him.

“Well, that was pretty obvious from the way you tore around the corner earlier, but you seriously need to go. Now.”

He could hear them now. The people cat-calling and jeering as they got closer. He stammered out again, that he couldn’t do it.

Peter was looking back and forth between Jeff’s goons and the damn car and Tony’s ears were full of their jeers and promises of pain and torture if he dared to take a client. And he was not fucking moving. He would have to do something, or they would be making the 11 o’clock news.

“For fuck’s sake. Get in,” he said as he moved around the open door and sat down, the Italian leather hugging his ass like the custom designed seat had been made to his specs.

Peter hurried around to the passenger’s side and sat down, closing the door behind him with a safe, finalizing click as the locks slammed down. Tony’s fingers flew over the steering buttons and tapped the center console, the car roaring to life again as he pressed down on the accelerator and pulled away from the curb, narrowly avoiding hitting the car in his blind spot. He flicked the gear paddles behind the steering wheel expertly and smoothly brought the car up to the third gear, leaving his corner, the club, Clint and all his problems behind as he put the piece of art on wheels through its paces. 

Somehow managing all of this in heels. 

Man, what a car. 

He moved through the cars on the road smoothly, like he was an oil slick in water, accelerating on the straight empty stretches and turning corners like he was riding rails. He became aware of his surroundings as he left the limits of what was considered West Hollywood, and he realized that he had no idea where they were going. He slowed the car to a more reasonable speed and glanced at the male in the passenger seat. He was wearing a miss-matched suit with too-large pants. Other than that, he took note of a slim but bulky figure, long legs and decently large shoulders. His brown hair looked like it had been intentionally styled to look messy and untamed, with tufts of hair sticking in every direction with half-formed heaps of curls forming to frame his face which made his neck look a mile long. His beard was trimmed and obviously well taken care of, perfectly shaped and pristine with the faint smell of after-shave wafting off his skin. 

“Please,” he said in a small voice as he looked straight ahead and Tony glanced his way again, this time noticing the tension in his shoulders and his hands clasped together tightly in his lap, fingers discreetly curled to hide the expensive watch wrapped around his wrist. “I can get you money, if that’s what you want, but don’t…”

Tony looked back out at the road, frowning at what he was implying. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m harmless.” He turned towards him again with a charming smile. He glanced at him, but the tension failed to leave his posture. “I’m sorry about the scene back there. It was really more about me than you.” His silence persisted and he drove through a few intersections before pulling up to a red light. “Where can I take you? Where are you staying?” When he didn’t answer, he turned towards him in the seat. “Listen, seriously, I’m not gonna do anything to you. I just want to get you home and then I’ll go on my merry way. I’m really not into the whole rape kink thing, certainly not with a stranger.”

The light turned green and the car behind him honked once, letting him know he could get his obnoxious car rolling. Jealous micro-dick, Tony thought. He floored the accelerator, clicking through the double transmission and leaving him in his dust. Tony laughed.

“This car’s awesome.”

“You’re a prostitute.” The man sPetered it plainly, but Tony still felt it in his gut like a blow.

“I prefer the term man-whore personally,” he joked.

“This is a professional choice? To sell yourself for sex?”

“Gotta make a living somehow, darlin’.”

“Don’t call me that. The name’s Peter. And I didn’t mean to be insulting. I just think it’s an odd choice of profession, the risks and everything. Why would someone risk the STDs from a junkie for something they can get for free on Tinder?”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I’m clean OK? I don’t touch drugs and I get checked out once a month at the clinic. I am worlds safer than some asshole you meet on Tinder. Besides, how much do people fork over for dates these days? And let’s assume you decide after an evening of dull conversation that you want to take him back to your place for a bit of fun? What guarantee do you have that you’re even going to be satisfied, or hell, that HIS promiscuous Tinder lifestyle hasn’t resulted in an STD he won’t tell you about, he might not even know he has?

“Darlin’, not only am I a sure thing, I am safer than your Tinder-Dick-Pic Date, and I guarantee that I am a much better lay.”

The car rang with his laughter and Tony forgot to be angry or insulted as he caught his genuine smile. “You should have that on your business card. “A better lay than Tinder-Dick-Pic-Guy.”

“So now that we’ve decided I’m not going to rape you, where are we going?”

“The Beverly Wilshire.”

“Beverly Hills, coming right up.”

Tony turned at the next intersection, orienting himself a moment before heading back the correct road to get them back on track.

“What’s the going rate for your services then?”

Tony turned his head and looked him over again before looking back at the road. “$200.”

“For a night?”

“An hour.”

“$200 an hour and you wear those rags? What, do you jack your prices because I look like I have money?”

“No. Because you pissed me off.”

“Emotions have no place in a business transaction. That’s how you lose a deal.”

Tony saw him checking him out from the corner of his eye and he adjusted himself in the seat slowly, flexing muscles in his arms, legs and chest, contracting his abs and guiding his eyes to some key points of interest of his anatomy. Peter shifted in his seat and turned his head away sharply. Tony smiled smugly. He was actually considering continuing straight past the hotel as he saw its looming shape dominate that stretch of the road. He was enjoying the car way too much though and he pulled up to the curb. Almost immediately, a valet opened his door and he stepped out, straightening up like he was getting up from the floor. He had to hand it to the grey uniformed man who took his place in the driver’s seat: he barely stared when he got out.

Tony looked around at the upscale neighbourhood and noted the much cleaner uniform, white lighting all along the street, as opposed to the colourful neons of his own neck of the woods. There weren’t that many people walking around the evening streets, but as he hopped up onto the sidewalk, he found himself crossing his arms over his torso and holding tight, trying to hide as much skin as possible. 

Peter gave the valet the electronic key and grabbed his wallet out from the footwell. He straightened up and glanced over at the self-proclaimed man-whore who had rescued him. He couldn’t help seeing it that way, though his now calm mind had half shrugged off the whole thing as inconsequential. He moved towards him on the sidewalk, rummaging around in his wallet. When he looked up, it was to find him standing barely a foot away, his hands holding tight at his sides, an expectant look in his eyes. Peter took a step back, and that look seemed to dull a little. It disappeared completely when he held out a twenty-dollar bill.

“Thank you,” he told him as he reached for the money.

He looked at it a moment before folding it in his palm and sticking his hand back in his pocket. “Great. I guess I can just grab a taxi back up town.”

“Go back to your… office.”

“Yup.”

The man turned on his heels and started walking away, the clink-clack of his heels across the sidewalk sounding official. Peter watched him leaving. He couldn’t say what it was in that moment that made him do it: was it his brush with violence, his recent break up, his ever-lasting loneliness, the particularly nice shape of him? Maybe it was a deadly cocktail of all these things. The why of it hardly mattered as he found himself calling out to him. 

Tony stopped and turned back towards him and he walked up to him again. That expectant confidence was back in his face as he looked down at him.

“Just to be sure. You did say two hundred?”

“I did.”

He nodded, feeling as awkward as if he was asking a high school crush to dance with him. “This is crazy, I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he answered right away.

Peter frowned. The man wouldn’t even tell him his name. What the hell kind of bullshit was he getting himself into now? He took a step back, growing increasingly unsure about the whole thing. He should just go upstairs and get back to work.

“It’s Tony,” he said hurriedly, reaching his hand out and wrapping his long fingers around his hand, steadying his flight. “My name’s Tony.”

“So, how does this work, Tony?”

“Well, now I accompany you back to your room. Unless you want to go al fresco.”

“Um, no. I think not.”


	4. Sweetheart

Peter turned back towards the hotel doors, his stride purposeful, direct and Tony hustled to catch up to him. He followed him into the plush lobby, and he tried to not let his jaw hang at the richness of the décor. There weren’t too many people in the hotel’s grand entrance, and he was thankful for the privacy to get over his own shock. As he looked around, he noticed the little table by the door and the bowl of courtesy mints. He reached into the bowl and pulled out a handful, shoving them in his jean pocket before taking another one from the bowl and popping it into his mouth. Peter was already standing by the elevator, completely unconcerned whether or not he was following him. He stood perfectly straight, and yet he wasn’t stiff. It was like this ramrod posture was natural for him, crafted from memory. Tony found himself wondering at the type of man he was, when he wasn’t out picking up sex workers, that is.

When he reached the elevator, there was a couple standing nearby. As soon as they spotted him, the woman turned away, her discomfort palpable. The man looked over his wife’s head and sized Tony up, his lips pursed in disapproval. He couldn’t resist and winked at the man, letting his hand stray down towards his own crotch and waiting for him to check him out. The elevator doors finally opened, and Tony strutted inside, puckering his lips into a kiss before disappearing from view.

The bell boy standing by the elevator’s inside controls startled openly when Tony walked past him and spread out on the little stuffed red velour bench. “Mirrors, couch,” he called out loudly, “You know, a little mood lighting and a disco ball, and we got ourselves an orgy!”

He saw Peter close his eyes and cringe before turning to the couple. “No elevators in Malibu apparently.”

Peter stepped into the elevator, but the couple didn’t follow. Tony took his booted foot off the little bench but didn’t stand just yet. “Sorry,” he said to him, feeling like he had somehow disappointed him. “I couldn’t help it.”

“Try,” was all he said for the rest of the ride up and Tony busied himself with looking at all their reflections in the mirror lined walls of the elevator cabin: Peter with his perfect posture, and the bell boy standing in the corner with his hotel uniform sneaking peeks at him too, a shy smile on his face.

The elevator came to a standstill after an interminable minute of silence and he stood up as the doors opened. The words on the wall caught his attention.

“Penthouse! Now we’re talking.” He stepped out of the elevator, followed by Peter who took a key card out of his pocket and stuck it in the appropriate slot under the handle of the wooden double doors. Tony leaned up against the door, bringing his leg up and leaning his heel on it to make his jeans crease suggestively. Peter barely glanced at him as he opened the door and dropped the key card on the small table just on the inside.

Tony followed him in and closed the door behind them. He barely noticed him walking over to a desk set up by the windows and pulling his laptop out of his bag; he was dumbfounded by the room itself. It opened up just past the walls of the entrance, could a hotel room have its own lobby? Jesus. The room was bigger than his and Clint’s entire apartment. To the left there was a dining area with a dark, heavy, carved wood table, polished to a shine and topped with an arrangement of fresh flowers. Matching chairs were set all around it, ready for a dinner party. Tony’s boot heels were sinking into the plush carpeting and he briefly wondered how Peter managed to walk on it without immediately wanting to sink his toes in it. To the right, there was a set of open French doors through which he could see a large king-sized bed, sheets neatly tucked in and adding a foot to the height of the elevated bed. The center of the main room had a sunken floor with two steps leading down. The back wall was draped in delicate sheer linen curtains that hung over floor-to-ceiling windows with arched lintels. One of these was standing ajar leading out to a stone balcony.

Tony made a line for the open door, passing by Peter who was pulling papers out of his briefcase while he waited for his computer to turn on. He walked out onto the balcony. It stretched from one end of the building to the other, a waist-high parapet a foot and a half thick standing between himself and the sea of twinkling city lights stretched out below him and to the foot of the Hollywood Hills; a dark outline against the glow of the night sky. There were no tall buildings to block the view, or towering above the hotel, affording this penthouse complete privacy from prying eyes.

“Fuck, how much do people pay for a view like this?”

“About $7,000 a night.”

Tony’s stomach clenched just thinking about that much money. “Damn. If I was paying that much, I’d be spending all my time out here, really maximize that.”

“I haven’t gone out there, yet. No time.”

Tony turned and walked back into the suite. From his new vantage point, he could see a hallway stretching beyond the first bedroom. How many bedrooms did this place have? He glanced down at Peter who was typing something on his laptop, staring at the screen. The desk was set up sideways to the wall between two windows. The curtains were drawn in such a way that from where he was, he wouldn’t even be able to see beyond the balcony wall. “If you don’t have time to appreciate the room’s perks, why do you fork over that much money for it?”

Peter spared him a quick glance. “It’s the best,” he said simply, returning to his computer.

Tony looked around again quickly as he pulled his hat off and dropped it onto the back of the couch that wrapped around part of the room, fingers briefly running through his hair to tease the wavy curls and shake them out. The thing could easily seat ten people, he mused. There were a few armchairs scattered around the walls, and a low coffee table set up in the centre with more fresh cut flowers.

He turned to look at the brunette, still typing away at his computer. He sat himself astride one of the ottomans and flicked his hair back and out of his eyes, cursing his decision to depart with his cap, so he could look up at him.

“Well, now that you’ve got me here, what do you have in mind?”

“You know, I have absolutely no idea.” He sat back against the chair’s rest and looked at him, his eyes moving over his body, taking him in. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Yeah, I pretty much guessed that one.” He stood up again and walked over to stand beside him, leaning back against the desk, his boots crossed at the ankles. “You could start by paying me. That might break the ice a little.”

He blinked twice, the only outward sign that he might have been startled by his reminder of the business side of the transaction, and then he bent down to pick up a satchel. He pulled a wallet out again, different from the last one; thicker- this time leafing through the bills and handing him $200. Tony quickly tucked it away in his boot beside Jimmy’s earlier $50, forty, since he gave Clint ten bucks of it.

“Alright, so what’re you into? Any kinks? Anal? You want me to suck you off? You wanna fuck me? Get on your hands and knees and let me plow into you while you whine over your trophy wife and her loose pussy? What gets you off, Darlin’?”

Peter coughed awkwardly and stood up, forcing Tony to look up at him. He reached out and pulled him in gently by the waist, having a hard time ignoring how odd it felt. This man radiated power and here he was, offering it to a small little sex- worker who was pretending to be much more than he was. Allowing him to take lead and dominancy. Tony’s had much larger clients; some who scream wealth and arrogance, but nothing compared to him. He was a composed disaster, elegant and powerful while somehow sporting the chard edges around his aura and making them work in his favor. He wasn’t dangerous, but he definitely wasn’t innocent. 

But he seemed… fragile, almost. Like a flower and Tony was terrified of ruffling his delicate petals. 

There was no mention of the wife, but that definitely didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Tony filed away that knowledge for later use. 

Tony could almost feel his discomfort coming off him in waves of stiff posture and eye contact avoidance. He reminded himself that this was his first time with a pro, and he slowed his pace. He reached up and kissed his neck in the hollow right above his collar bone, nose brushing against his still Adam’s apple. God, he smelled nice. He kissed him again, pressing his lips to his skin as he skimmed his arm with his fingers, keeping his touch feather light. He kissed his shoulder as his hand reached it and spread across his upper back, the bunch of muscles there tensing beneath his touch and quivering with an unrestrained show of strength that wasn’t backed by the smallness of his upper body. He pulled the suit jacket off, discarding it on the floor, and made quick work of unbuttoning the shirt. Skilled fingers popping the buttons one by one- working in a flash until they were all undone, save for the ones hidden in the tucked waistband of his pants. Tony brushed the shirt back and off a single shoulder, fingers following to caress the skin. 

It was delicate and soft, pale like a porcelain doll. 

He brought up his other hand and cradled his neck, the faintest tickle of scruff scratching along Tony’s knuckles when Peter bent his head to press a single kiss to the inside of his wrist. Tony startled at the gentle touch and quickly stood away from the desk, using movement to hide his reaction, and pulled Peter up against him. Tony felt him sigh into his shoulder a moment before he drew away and out of his reach, pulling his shirt back in place but leaving it undone. “Why don’t we just talk for a while?”

“Talk.” Tony didn’t try to hide his confusion at him abruptly slamming the brakes. He let out a frustrated sigh though as he wondered how he was supposed to get his thing done if he kept resisting him. Was he trying to live out some fantasy? He would need some pointers if that was the case, and as it was, he wasn’t giving him anything to work with. Or maybe he didn’t know what he wanted, he considered as he watched him settle in one of the armchairs in the living room area. Talk.

“So, Peter, are you in town for business, or pleasure?”

“Aren’t those two things the same for you?”

Tony smiled as he walked up to where he was sitting and sat down on the ottoman in front of him again. “For me they are. And my clients never complain either.”

He reached up and ran his fingers through his wavy locks of light brown hair. It was shabbier than it's ever been, but sometimes Rhodey liked holding on to something and he favored the man a bit too much. 

He could tell that Peter wanted something by the way his eyes kept taking inventory of his body. He didn’t seem ready to express what that want was just yet though. He let his eyes move down his body and all the way down his long legs to his feet that were still jammed in those torturous shoes. He reached forward, letting his hand smooth down his clothed leg and refrained from asking why the unmatched attire- didn’t seem like he was the type to let his clothing slip. He slid the pant leg up so it pooled at the knee, revealing smooth legs with the faintest prickle from a fresh shave, and pressed his fingertips into his skin, massaging the muscles of his calf before pulling his leg up gently and laying his foot in his lap, forcing him to sit back in the chair. He nimbly slipped his finger into the heel of the shoe and worked it around and pulled off his shoe, sock as well. He set it down on the floor then wrapped his foot in his hands, pressing his thumbs into the sole, watching his perfectly pedicured toes curl under. Most of his clients there were higher end cared about hygiene, so he wasn’t too surprised to find the pedicured toes or lack of body hair.

“Tell me what you like,” he said softly as he massaged him, “What’s your secret fantasy? What do you dream about, Peter?” He didn’t answer him, but he wasn’t getting up either and Tony decided to push a little further. “Did you know that erogenous zones exist all over the body?” He bent forward and kissed his ankle. He massaged up his calf, slipping his fingers behind his knee and pressing the sensitive spot there. He felt his leg twitch ever so slightly and he sighed as he kissed his kneecap, his fingers continuing their exploration of his leg. He was pleased. Clearly this was a man who hadn’t been touched enough by his lovers; appreciated. Fucking idiots. He glanced up and noticed the phone sitting on the little round table beside the chair and an idea struck him. “Does this place do room service?”

“Of course,” he answered, his eyes slowly opening to look at him. He smiled and rocked himself forward off the ottoman and leaned on the chair’s armrests. His body was hovering over his and he saw his breath jump in his throat and chest. He picked up the phone receiver and hit the zero to reach the room service. As it rang, he lowered himself until he was just above him, their body heat bouncing off each other, and he kissed his neck again, flicking his earlobe with his tongue before closing his lips and suckling it. A voice answered at the other end of the line and he barely paused his ministrations to ask for them to send up chocolate covered strawberries and a jar of coconut oil.

“What’s that for?” He asked him, sounding just this side of breathless.

“You’ll see,” was all he answered as he returned to identifying his hot spots. He subtly glanced at the clock, noting the time. He would have to move things along a little if he was going to live up to his business promise. He suckled at his neck gently, careful to stimulate the thin skin under his chin as he ran a hand over his knee and under the bunching of his pants. It was a tight fit, but with his practiced hands he managed and he pressed into his inner thigh and though Peter most definitely sighed, he suddenly jerked back to his feet like he had given him an electric shock. Tony sat back on the ottoman as he stepped around him and went to stand by the large couch, leaning against it to remove his other shoe and sock.

“You really don’t have to play hard to get with me. You’re paying for this, so if you want me to give you a good time, you’re going to have to give me a little more direction. Time’s ticking, and I really need to get to work if you want a happy ending.”

He went to stand by him which was when the doorbell rang. Peter startled and made for the door, throwing a “I got it,” over his shoulder. He threw his hands in the air, looking around growing exasperated. His eyes landed on the little sidebar at the top of the steps and he walked over to it. He put his booted foot up on the rail and leaned his elbows down on the bar top. He heard him direct the room service clerk to put the items on the bar and Tony flexed a little. Maybe he wanted to look at him again.

He exchanged quick business-like words with the hotel employee and Tony straightened up to check out the delivered goodies. There were two identical stainless-steel bowls with fitted covers, and he lifted one up to find a mound of chocolate covered strawberries. In the other was a perfectly rounded scoop of coconut oil. He smoothed his fingers on the scoop and they came away slick with melted oil; perfect.

He heard him close the door behind the clerk and he turned around to face him. He ran his hand in his long hair again, flexing his biceps and pecs. He looked at him intently, like he was the single most important thing in the room, and nothing else was worthy of his attention. He barely seemed to register it. “What do you say we get things started here?”

He stopped beside the desk and glanced his way. “Time seems to be an issue with you.”

“I am paid by the hour. I’m just trying to deliver the goods.”

“Alright. How much for the whole night then?”

Tony blinked repeatedly, confused by the request. He barely wanted him to touch him for a few minutes at a time, what the hell did he want to have him around the whole night for? Then an image of Clint popped into his mind, and his earlier worries about paying rent and Clint’s debt resurfaced. If he could just get the rent taken care of, it would already be a win. Before he could think any further and talk himself out of it, he said “$600, for the night.”

“Deal,” he agreed right away. “Can we relax now?”

Tony pushed off from the bar and strolled up to him. He bent down to kiss his nape, running his hand up his bare arm, where his shirt was now rolled up, the coconut oil leaving a mark on his perfect skin. “I can help you relax, if you let me do my thing,” Tony whispered against his neck, “And it won’t have to take all night.”

He moved away again, and Tony sighed in frustration, running his hand through his hair to move it out of his face. “So, what do you want me to do all night?”

“I don’t know,” he said, standing just out of hand’s reach. “I honestly don’t know. I just… I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Are you even gay? Or are you some fag-basher who has some colleagues on their way right now to kick my ass and teach me a lesson?” 

Peter startled with a laugh and glanced over at Tony, eyes intently looking at him- his face, nothing below and it made him a little shy. How closely he was being studied. “No, Tony, I am not gay. I am, however, bisexual. Which I am sure you are as well?”

Peter’s eyes narrowed in consideration at Tony’s hesitance. “I’m whatever you want me to be, Darlin’.” 

“So, what does that mean? Gay? Bisexual? Some other color of the complicated rainbow?” 

“I started out in this career gay, but learned being homosexual doesn’t get you too far. I’ve learned to love women, though they don’t fancy me as much as your fine ass does.” Tony grinned unabashedly and winked, sighing when Peter turned around and didn’t say anything further. 

If sexuality wasn’t a problem, what was? 

He watched him move back to his computer and sit down. He brought the bowl of strawberries over to him and leaned against the desk again picking one up by the leaves. He put the bowl down beside him as he bit into the perfectly ripened strawberry, a little juice falling down his chin. He swallowed down the berry, enjoying the taste of the chocolate. His stomach rumbled for more, but he held back, folding his arms over his bare chest.

“You should try these. They’re just right.”

“Maybe in a bit.”

Tony nodded, looking around, unsure what he was supposed to do next. His eyes strayed down the hallway. “Do you mind if I freshen up a bit?”

“No, of course. Go right ahead.”

He turned to look at him again, but he was focused on his screen. “You could join me, if you want.”

He made a non-committal sound and Tony made his way back up the steps. He heeled at his boots and pulled them off, leaving them by the bar and tucked his socks into them with his money and condoms. He pulled his vest off, leaving it folded on top of his boots. His shorts were next, leaving him parading his naked body in the brightly lit penthouse suite, running through his dwindling ideas for how he was going to woo a paying customer who didn’t seem interested in anything he had offered so far.

—

Peter watched him from the corner of his eye as he stripped out of the remaining clothes and stood by the bar like a work of art waiting for some form of acknowledgment. Then, he walked away and disappeared down the hall, taking his distracting body with him. Peter sat back in his chair and let out a shaky breath. What on earth was he doing? He turned back to his computer and tried to focus on the numbers flashing on the screen, cross-referencing them with those in his spreadsheet, and found himself thinking about the naked man in the shower.

He could hear the water running, which meant that he had left the door open. Of course, he had. The more he tried to not think about him, the more his mind tried to picture the water running down his perfect body, covering every inch of his skin, his brown eyes staring at him, fierce and intense yet curious and sweet. Because those peepers had not gone unnoticed. Holy Hell, just thinking about them made him shiver.

It’s been so long since he was so affected by another person; since he’s allowed himself the luxury. 

He opened his eyes and stared at the screen. He closed the spreadsheet and opened his email instead. There were a few new ones sitting in his inbox and he busied herself answering them. Or so he thought. A minute went by, and then another and he realized that he had been staring at the flashing cursor in the reply window and hadn’t managed a single word. He knocked his laptop shut and rubbed his hand on his forehead feeling the old familiar headache begin to pound from the back of his head and up towards his frontal lobe.

He pictured the water running down his body, covering every inch of his skin in rivulets that ran in every crease of his muscles. Before he knew it, Peter had stood and made his way up the steps and down the hallway to seek out what his mind kept conjuring. He stopped in front of the open bathroom door and he could just see the shadow of his shape through the steamed up glass of the shower walls. He closed his eyes tightly and moved on to the bedroom where he stripped out of his remaining clothes, leaving them draped over the stuffed armchair in the corner. He would send them for dry cleaning in the morning so he could return the pants. He walked over to the bed and found his black silk robe with the brightly woven name tag, with a simple Peter, across the breastplate, out on the side of the bed where he had slept an hour or two the night before. He slipped it on and tied the sash before heading back to the main room.

He had started checking off the list of things he needed to get ready for the big meeting the next day, only every time he tried to focus on what needed to get done, he thought about his argument with Cheryl: failed relationship attempt number… what was he up to now?

Since MaryJane, they’d all just blurred. 

With a sigh he sat down at the small desk that had been set up especially for him at his request and he pushed open the laptop again, going back to those emails.

—

Tony had waited under the hot water about as long as he dared, figuring that Peter might have come to him if he waited long enough, but he had reached the point where he would start pruning if he stayed longer. He was impressed though that the hot water had not run out yet, and he turned the faucet shut. He grabbed a plush white towel and shoved his face into it, taking a deep breath of the delicate lavender laundry detergent. Towels had never smelled so amazing. He quickly dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his hips loosely. He figured he’d play it safe heading back out to the main room, in case he was still reticent. No point in scaring him off now, he had all night.

He headed back out to the main room and glanced over at Peter who was sitting at his desk still. He picked up his shorts and slipped them back on, looking for a place to put the towel and settling for leaving it on the little bar top. He could hear him talking and he glanced back to see he was on the phone. He couldn’t figure out what he was talking about though, the jargon completely lost on him. He bent down and picked out a couple colorful packets from his boot and slipped them into his pocket. He had a feeling that when he would finally be ready to go, it wouldn’t be the time to get up and fetch supplies.

He spotted the small fridge just under the bar top as he straightened up again and opened the door, revealing the goodies inside: snacks and bottled water and soda and beer and even miniature bottles of liquor. He gathered a selection of things into his arms and the little stainless-steel bowl of coconut oil and headed towards the sunken living room.

Peter glanced up at him as he walked by and he gestured at the snacks. He waved him on with a smile and went back to his phone call. He moved into the living room looking around at the many seating options before settling for spreading out on the plush carpet. He had always been a floor kind of guy anyways. Within minutes he had set himself up with a perfect mini-bar picnic on the floor.

There was a lull in the conversation and Tony stretched his neck to look around the couch at Peter who had put his phone down and was back to looking at the computer screen. “I’ve got a little picnic thing going on over here, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“You go ahead. I just have a couple calls to make.”

Tony shrugged and opened a packet of macadamia nuts. He popped one in his mouth and wondered how it was possible for a nut to melt in his mouth. He chuckled to himself and picked up the remote. “You mind if I watch some TV?”

“Knock yourself out.”

He shook his head dumbfounded. Man was paying him $600 to watch television. He scooted back a little and leaned back on his hands so Peter could at least look at him if he wanted to. He glanced his way and realized he was on the phone again. From his vantage point he could see his legs under the desk, black satin or silk cascading around them down to the floor. He had changed while he was in the shower. He entertained himself imagining what he might still be wearing under his robe and he surprised himself feeling his pants getting a little tight. He turned back to the television and the many ridiculous antics of the Scooby-Gang as they tried to solve another mystery.

Slowly, his mind forgot where he was and why he was there as he snacked on his goodies and drank down a miniature bottle of Jack Daniels. He was so involved with the animated figures on the screen that he didn’t notice when Peter stopped talking the next time. The main lights turned off in the room, only a far off side-lamp glowing from near the entrance and the blue light from the television left to illuminate the area and he heard the rustle of his robe behind him as he walked into the living room. He turned his head when he put the bowl of strawberries down beside him. Peter sat down in one of the armchairs, pulling his robe around his legs to cover up. Scooby barked something ridiculous and Tony started laughing, turning his attention back to the television. He ate one of the strawberries and burst out laughing again.

Beside him, he heard Peter huff and he gave him a sideways glance. He had a shadow of a smile just barely tugging at his lips and nearly invisible in the television’s glow. He wasn’t watching the cartoon though. He was watching him. Tony felt the familiar rush in his veins firing him up. He hadn’t realized just how relaxed he had gotten, sitting there on the floor, watching cartoons and eating snacks. He sat back against his hands, giving him a better view and when he turned to look at him again, his eyes were moving up and down following the shape of him. Time to work.

He muted the cartoon on the television and rocked to his hands and knees. He grabbed the coconut oil, finally time to use it, and set it down beside his chair. He kept a close eye on his reactions, watchful for a turn in his mood, but so far, he was just quietly watching him. He turned back around and grabbed the strawberries, setting them down on the little table beside him. He kneeled up in front of him, his legs crossed at the knees and to the side. Tony reached forward and took the end of the sash keeping his robe closed in his hand. He tugged at it gently, the bow coming undone with a swish and he parted the panels revealing what was hidden underneath: black, snug fitting boxers with a noticeable bulge and smooth torso with impressive abs; pecs hidden beneath a light dusting of chest hair. He slipped his hands along his sides, curves still evident but not dominant; soft mixing with hard and pulled him down the chair at a better angle.

Fingers and palms slicked with coconut oil, Tony massaged his whole body, starting at his ankles and making his way up his legs, along his muscled belly and up to his neck and shoulders, avoiding the more obvious erogenous zones and focusing on the ones that usually got forgotten: his knees, his thighs, the spot below his navel, his neck and shoulders. He warmed him up with his hands, gliding them over his oiled body with hardly any friction. He pressed into the skin, shifting it as the muscles beneath twitched and relaxed.

Peter let out a shaky breath as Tony brushed against the swell of his crotch, ignoring the obvious outline of his penis head, and slid his hands back up the length of his torso. His hands were all over him, ever moving and shifting and he added his mouth to the mix, pressing his lips to the warm skin covering his solar plexus.

For one belated moment, he wondered if Peter had ever been a bottom and if that was why he’d been hesitant at first? Was this new to him? Tony’s dominance?

“Tell me what you want, Peter,” he whispered against his skin as he kissed it again, nuzzling him gently as his breath hitched.

“What do you do?” He asked him, equally softly, like a sigh backed by a wish.

He looked up at him through the valley between his translucent parted chest hair as he kissed lower, starting a slow path down his stomach while his hands massaged his thighs. “Everything. Except I don’t kiss on the mouth.”

“OK,” he said, sounding breathless.

He kissed him right above the line of his boxers and pulled back slightly. He curled his fingers around Peter’s high and guided his legs apart, deciding if he wasn’t going to be stopped, then what he was doing obviously wasn’t wrong. Peter was probably just unsettled from the newness of this all. 

He settled himself between them, pulling him down closer toward him as he kissed the inside of his thigh, enjoying the roughness of prickled hair. He felt him tense up slightly, and he shushed gently between kisses as he moved up ever closer to the cloth covered mound. “Just close your eyes and let me take you to Heaven, baby.”

He brought his mouth up close to his cock and breathed on him through his boxers, lips hovering over the wet patch from pre-cum. His stomach twitched and rolled, and Tony smiled. He pressed his hand against him, covering him with his palm and feeling as his cock twitched beneath his exploring fingers. Peter wriggled slightly but didn’t move away. When Tony glanced at his face, his eyes were closed tightly, his lips parted, his breathing already accelerating. He pulled down the fabric of the underwear, revealing neatly trimmed brown pubic hair. He slicked his fingers up with coconut oil and started massaging his cock head, the elastic band of the underwear snapping into place to rest at the base of his shaft. He kissed his inner thigh again as he pressed a nail underneath Peter’s head, teasing the sweet spot often ignored. All the while his thumb rubbed a quick circle around his slit, drawing a soft moan as coconut oil and precum mixed together to create a sticky, sweet lubricant that seeped between the webs of Tony’s fingers. 

“Yes,” Peter sighed, and Tony sank a finger below to trace at the man's tightening balls. Peter moaned softly and rolled his hips and he finally took a hold of his shaft, fingers barely managing to wrap around the girth with his cock throbbing in pulsed beats. He breathed on his swollen head and began to stroke him with his hand, the beginning pace measured and slow as his fingers cupped his balls and gave a firm squeeze. Peter shuddered and Tony stroked faster. He moaned and he tightened his hold on his dick. He came with a silent tensing of muscles, mouth gaping open as Tony worked him through it, cum splashing against Peter’s lower abdomen and Tony lapped it up, skilled tongue dipping into the divot of his belly button to collect the hot seed and he swallowed without second thought. 

He hummed silently at the flavor; a clash of salt with something sweet and bitter, undeniable musky and manly with one hand down into his own pants to tug at himself and draw out his budding erection; making it nice and hard.

When Peter relaxed again, he pulled his hand away and stood up. Tony opened his eyes and they were instantly drawn to the bulge in his shorts. Peter leaned his hands on the arm rests and brought his body down close to his, pressing his mouth to his neck and nipping at the sensitive skin there. His eyes were watching him every time he glanced up as he explored his torso with his mouth and his hands were clinging tightly to the arms of the chair. Tony pressed his hips down against his and rolled, his weight still mostly supported by his arms. “You can touch me if you want,” he told him, ashamed he wanted him to do it. 

He rolled against him again and his hands released the chair and wrapped around his broad shoulders, clinging to them. Tony went back to kissing his neck and slowly lowered himself to his knees again, his mouth continuing to explore his coconut-cum-flavoured torso. As he kissed his pecs, Peter ran his hands in Tony’s hair and tugged at him like he was trying to control a puppet’s strings. 

Ah, so Rhodey wasn’t alone now. 

He kissed around his hardened nipple, flicking his tongue at it, wetting it through the thin sheer of hair. He arched his back and pulled Tony’s head down as he moved away, trying to keep him closer to his straining nipple and he smiled. He took it in his mouth and suckled him, honestly wondering when the last time he’d done this to a male had been. Ages, probably. Men didn’t like their bodies worshipped like this- they didn’t care for the time. But this man… he was certainly enjoying it. 

He sighed and Tony raised himself off the ground again. He pushed his jean covered cock against his pelvis, feeling the slide of Peter’s cock across his own denim-covered one and brought his mouth up against his ear. “Do you want more, sweetheart?” he rumbled into his ear before sucking his lobe into his mouth.

“Yes,” he sighed into his ear so sweetly, clinging to his shoulders.

“And you’re a bottom?” 

“Back in college,” he panted, “experimentations and all.” He waved a hand, like the thought had been forgotten- lost to the air, and huffed as dazed eyes focused on Tony. The brown far too focused to match the swimming of his pupil; “I’m certainly not stopping you, am I?” 

And okay. 

Tony got to his feet, slipping his arms under his and hoisting him up against his chest. He had this fantasy of carrying Peter into the bedroom, but that wasn’t realistic as Peter swatted his efforts away, so in a mood dampener, he instead took the man's wrist and led the way towards the room with the enormous bed. He pulled back the overly puffy covers, sending them spilling to the ground, and directed Peter to sit in the centre of the mattress. He kissed the base of his throat as he pushed aside his silky robe then pulled it away from him completely, letting it fall to the ground beside the bed. He climbed into the bed and settled himself between his thighs, pressing his hard cock against Peter’s own as he slipped his hand between their bodies and pressed at Peter’s puckered hole through the scratchy material of his boxers. 

The man moaned, responsive, and arched into Tony’s touch. 

That was enough invitation for Tony. He was everywhere, his body covering Peter’s, his hands petting and groping, his mouth nipping and suckling and he moaned, wrapping his legs around his hips and rolling with him, arching his back more as he pulled on his nipple hard. His hands moved down his body and his fingers slipped under the waistband of his boxers, which had snapped back into place, and again took hold of his rapidly hardening cock. The recovery time was almost impressive. 

Dear god, he was so wet with Cowper’s fluid. His eagerness showing through the wet patch in his boxers. Tony moved his fingers around his shaft, alternating between a loose and tight grip as he twisted his wrist and flicked a thumb over Peter’s head. He was writhing under him, little sighs escaping his mouth as his hands clung to his shoulders, his head, pulled at his hair, anything he could grab.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the colourful packets he had slipped in there before. He kneeled between his legs as he watched him, breathlessly. He smiled at Peter, enjoying looking at his naked body, before hooking his fingers in his boxers and pulling them down his legs. He wrapped an arm through and around his bent knee and kissed the inside of his thigh before sinking down to the mattress, Peter’s cock bobbing right in front of him. 

He unwrapped the condom quickly and slid it down Peter’s cock, making a barrier between his mouth and Peter’s urethra. Which seemed slightly silly, given the cum still painting his tongue, but he hadn’t thought that far ahead before- lived in the moment and listened to a spurred urge, but it was better to be safe now than to forgo his usual precautions. 

Through the thin latex he pushed his tongue against his slit, his own cum slicking him up and making the latex shift and glide against it. Lube flavor definitely wasn’t his favorite, and he cursed not grabbing a flavored one. He was sure he still had a banana left, or maybe a cherry? He licked and suckled at his head, going no further, then suddenly pushed half the length in his mouth, swallowing around his head with his tongue lapping and tracing the veins on the underside of his shaft. He gave no warning, and Peter’s entire body quivered. 

Peter’s hands found his hair and his thighs were pressed against his ears and he was holding onto him so, so tightly and he worked him faster, finally focusing his mouth on his head as he hollowed his cheeks and bobbed up and down, fingers slipping down with the distraction to press at Peter’s hole and he bared his teeth for that sudden, mind blowing sensation that heightened Peter’s stimulation as he shoved a finger into his asshole and paused a second, allowing the first rings of muscles to adjust before he pressed deeper in; the coconut oil helping ease the first finger in. 

He altered between slipping his finger in and out of him, thrusting it in straight to the knuckle while he sucked and licked at his cock. He came again, clasping him tightly to him as his legs shook from the intensity of it and Tony worked him through his, finger arching to find that bundle of nerves and with a skilled finger that drug down the inside of Peter’s walls, the man scream and Tony felt as another pulse of cum shot against his tongue, protected and blocked by the thin veil of the condom. 

He finally released his head, and he looked up at him: his face was flushed and his previously immaculate hair had strands sticking to his damp forehead. He was breathing heavily, and he looked languid and spent. He was absolutely gorgeous- hot. Tony shifted his shoulders, letting his legs fall off to each side as he crawled up over his body slowly; enjoying the smooth brush of their heated skin. His eyes were fixed on his as he drew closer. He covered him with his body again, wrapping one arm around him, clasping him tightly. He lowered his head, aiming for his neck and Peter turned his head like he wanted to catch his mouth with his. He drew away out of reach and ducked down below his jaw to nip and kiss at his skin- his finger, though somehow now two, still knuckles deep in his asshole but not moving to give him time to come down and relax- not wanting to over stimulate. 

Tony rocked his hips against his slowly, pressing his cock against his through his jeans. Peter’s hands skimmed down his back, the light touch raising goosebumps on his skin. His hands pressed against him more confidently as they stroked down his lower back and they didn’t hesitate to slip into his shorts and squeeze his ass. Tony responded by pushing against him again, the gliding of their cocks almost perfect if  
his wasn’t restricted by the damn denim. He lifted his head to look at his face, gauging his mood.

“You want more, sweetheart?” he rolled against him again.

Peter looked at him, his blown-pupil eyes looking like they were taking inventory of every one of his stupid freckles.

“Peter?” he lowered his mouth to his ear again and whispered against his skin as he rolled his hips slowly. “Do you want me?”

He let out a tremulous sigh, his arms coming up to wrap around his neck and shoulders. “God, yes,” he breathed out.

He slipped out of his embrace and stood beside the bed. Peter watched him. He watched him with his secretive, and intense stare that he could only half understand. He watched him as he removed his shorts, and it excited him. He pulled another condom out of his pocket and straightened up. His eyes widened slightly as he stared at his cock and he stroked himself slowly, Peter mirroring the action as he took hold of his own cock- the soiled condom now lain on the floor, tied off into a knot. 

He rolled the condom onto himself and moved back up to the bed. Peter rolled towards him as he lay down on his side. He was reaching for him with his whole body, like he wanted to wrap himself into Tony. Tony’s hand on his hip stopped him and he rolled him away in the other direction instead, pressing his body up against his back. He fit his body perfectly, his ass pressing back against his hips, his bent head almost tucking under his chin. He kissed his hair tenderly.

He worked to prime him, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and kneading his chest slowly, fingers working over the tender buds of his nipples, while his free arm rove down his arm, waist and hip and straight down to his asshole. He teased the swollen bud that was pulsing with anticipation with his fingertips and kissed the back of his neck. 

Tony used his whole body, writhing against him slowly to stimulate him while he scraped his teeth against his skin. He dipped his fingers into him, after slicking them with a bit of saliva, and he pushed his hips back against him. Peter surprised a soft moan out of him, and he nearly chuckled at his own reaction. He did it again and he maneuvered him so he could line up his cock with his hole, deciding a two-finger stretch was enough preparation and Peter didn’t object. 

He didn’t wait for him to writhe back against him again, he held him steady as he pushed into him slowly from behind. He gasped and turned his head into the pillow as he bottomed out with a groan. God, he was so tight around his cock. A part might be from the improper stretching techniques- Tony obviously knew better, but a large part was obviously Peter’s reborn-virgin status he’d presented with since college. 

He waited for the retraction that never came- the demanding that he stop and leave. 

Peter pressed back and Tony pushed into him again and he heard his cut off, muffled moan into the pillow. He slowly increased the speed of his thrusts, listening to his gasps as he clung to his arm and pushed back against him every time. With every press of his hips, he thrust harder and faster. He reached around with his free hand and wrapped a hand around his neglected cock, slicking it up with his juices and pressing his thumb hard into the slit. Peter gasped and twitched, and he increased his assault, pounding into him and jerking him off. 

Peter’s fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled at his hand, trying to pull him away, but he had his number now. He sped up his hand, tightening his grip. 

He didn’t let up as he pressed his mouth to his ear. “Let it happen, baby,” he whispered, sounding just this side of breathless. He stopped trying to hold him back, his hand reaching behind them and digging his nails into Tony’s ass. It was his turn to gasp in his ear, unable to deny the pleasure he felt himself at his authentic, passionate responses. 

He felt close to release, that familiar tingling in his tailbone starting to spread heat to his balls. He checked him quickly and saw he was ready to pop again. He grew even more excited at the prospect of them both getting a happy ending. He just had to time it right. He grabbed Peter’s leg and swung it over his head and against his shoulder as he smoothly switched their position and he settled between his thighs, the new position making the crunch of their conjoined abdomens work Peter’s cock without the need for added stimulation with Tony’s hand. 

He thrust into him harder, this position giving him more leverage. He pounded into him and watched him; his face was flushed, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands knuckling the sheets, his legs twitching when his thumb pressed against the base of his cock and he was moaning nearly constantly. He pressed the slicked pad of his thumb against the sweet spot under Peter’s cock head once again and he was coming apart again, squeezing him with everything he had as his cock shot warm tendril after tendril of thick, hot semen between their torsos. 

He felt the heat intensify like liquid sunshine and two more thrusts had him coming into the condom with a shaky gasp, Peter’s name dying on his lips as he swallowed back any and all verbal expressions of his appreciation. 

He slowed his movements, riding them both through it, and pulled out, holding the edges of the condom. He did a quick job of tying it off and tossing it onto the floor by the bedside bin, next to the other one. He felt satisfied that the job was done, at least for the moment, and he swung Peter’s leg over his head and moved up to lay alongside him. He pulled him back up against him, the curve of his ass pressing against his softening cock.

He had not expected to come, and he found himself feeling languid and satisfied; like a fat cat. He was so comfy, lost in the middle of that enormous bed, and he wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled and kissed his shoulder absently, letting them come down slowly; absently wondering if he’d fucked up by not giving Peter more time to adjust to the transition between fingers to cock. 

—

Tony’s body was so warm it felt like it was searing into Peter’s skin as he pressed himself against his back. His arm was heavy, draped over Tony’s hip and he could feel every inch of him where his body was pressed against his like the nerves under his skin had suddenly become hyper-sensitive. His lips against his skin felt so nice; sinking much deeper than his skin. He hadn’t been held like that since… somewhere around failed relationship 3 or 4. He allowed himself another moment to indulge and then moved away, feeling him loosen his hold. He sat on the edge of the bed and quickly picked up his robe, slipping his arms into the sleeves and pulling the edges closed around him. He wasn’t sure how he felt right then- sore, definitely sore with delicious ripples and pulses of pain sizzling along the bottom of his spine and dancing up the curve of his back with every movement. It was a delicious sort of pain, he decided as he shifted again just to feel the stretch and burn of his lower body. A missed pain. 

But back to the dilemma- He had paid someone to have sex with him. And it had been… so good.

“Where are you going?” Tony asked him, and his voice sounded rougher than before, a deep rumble caught in his throat.

“Shower.”

“Do you want company? Night is still young.”

Peter turned to look at him and he was spread out naked and shameless on the bed like he was a model at a pornographic photoshoot: arms behind his head, abs just contracted enough, one long leg straight out and the other bent at the knee. “I need to clear my head.”

“I’ll wait right here, then.”

He winked at him and he huffed at him, amused. Peter looked at him a little longer, then turned away, heading for the shower. Though he had claimed the need to clear his head, he was surprised to find that it was already blissfully empty and devoid of all the doubts and confusion that had been assaulting him since the party. What had caused him to flee had been his inability to put Cheryl out of his mind and it had led to some very uncharacteristic behaviour on his part, not least of which was hiring a prostitute. He couldn’t deny though that, whatever the reason for the sequence of events that had led him to this moment, he was glad it had happened.

He washed off the coconut oil residue and turned the tap off. He dried himself off and carefully combed through his hair, not wanting to disturb the chaotic waves it had developed. He smiled as he thought about the man in his bed and the things he could do with his tongue. He walked back out of the main bedroom’s ensuite and looked over at the bed. Tony had rolled over and was lying spread out on his stomach, the perfect curve of his ass flowing smoothly into the arch of his back, his wide shoulders relaxed and his head resting on his arms, a pillow jammed in between. He was thoroughly asleep; his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open, his breathing even.

With a smile, Peter turned away and headed out the door to get back to work.


End file.
